for J. and A.

In the quiet village something was afoot
as visitors packed the fourteenth-century church
(where many a miracle had taken root)
to see two beautiful people end their search.
Like Gabriel in the air a wildflower shone –
and the good news was with us, down the old floor,
by the walls’ patience, past the significant stone
of a treasuring ark, and out the wooden door.
In a great tent in the dark a feast began.
A bonfire roared outside. Musicians strummed
their instruments. A dance of woman and man
bloomed in the air. Nightlong the countryside thrummed.
What a crowd there was. I thought past ages wheeled
and stopped to join in, on Piers Plowman Field.

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